November 8th, 2011
On the other hand, there’s this exercise by Chuck Klosterman:
1. Lew Alcindor (UCLA, 1966-1969): This, I cannot deny, is a form of cheating that even Sam Gilbert would find egregious. Obviously, Alcindor changed his name in 1971 and had a decent pro career; one could make the argument that perceiving “Lew Alcindor” as a separate entity from “Kareem Abdul-Jabbar” is essentially a question about the definition of personhood. But here’s the rub — I suspect Jabbar himself would argue that he is not the same Catholic stickman who showed up at Westwood in 1965, and it was that pre-Kareem who remains the most jaw-dropping college player to ever walk the planet. The fact that UCLA won the national title during all three seasons Alcindor played is merely the third-most interesting detail of his college career; the fact that the NCAA outlawed dunking due to his dominance is probably second. But to me, the thing that will always be most unfathomable about Alcindor was his very first game, played when he was an ineligible freshman: UCLA was coming off back-to-back national championships. As an exhibition, the Bruin varsity — ranked no. 1 in the nation — opened the season by scrimmaging the freshmen team. Alcindor had 31 points, 21 boards, and eight blocks. The freshmen hammered the varsity by 15 points; the no. 1 team in the country could not beat a player who could not yet play. As an ineligible 18-year-old, Alcindor was (at worst) the fourth or fifth-best basketball player in the world. So I guess talent does matter, sometimes.
Galley Friend J.E. November 8, 2011 at 6:52 pm
Hate to date myself so egregiously, but I saw at least a dozen games during his tenure. UCLA basketball in L.A. at the time was the ticket. Whereas you could walk right up to the Sports Arena and buy a good seat for the amazing Lakers (West, Baylor, et al) at game time, UCLA games were sold out before the season began–seasons in advance.
My mother used to talk about how, when Joe Louis fought, you could walk down the street in Chicago and hear the entire fight from radios tuned so loudly. Same in L.A. when Alcindor was playing; every car radio at stoplights had it on (our version of walking).
Games were not on TV. The one in the Astrodome against Elvin Hayes’s Houston team, when Alcindor had scratched his cornea and was playing with a patch, was the only thing people were listening to. (It was UCLA’s only loss during his tenure–71-69, if memory serves. In the championship game that year, or was it the semis, UCLA beat Houston by more than 30.)
What I remember thinking as he played was how effortless he made the game seem. His expression never changed. It was, well, expressionless. A marvel. How lucky I am to have seen that just a few years after getting to watch Koufax pitch.